Fearless (9 page)

“Oh Jesse,” I gasped out. My body shook and convulsed. I moaned aloud with erotic pleasure as my whole being flooded with ecstasy. I abandoned myself to the whirl of sensations pulsing through my body and the next moan was accompanied by the rush of my orgasm. Panting breathlessly, he rose up and caught each of my legs behind the knee and pushed them up, until my knees were almost to my ears. Jesse was an animal. I was a little startled, as it was quite different from last night’s smooth as Barry White love making. Whether he was Easy Breezy Jesse or Hurricane Harbor Jesse, either way, that’s the way I liked it.

From the size of his rock hard erection, I could tell his body still craved mine and he thrust deep inside of me, ready for his turn.

“Fuck me, baby, fuck me. I’m all yours,” I gasped.

A satisfied growl tore from deep within his throat. With each thrust, he groaned louder, gripping the backs of my thighs, driving deeper with each penetration. Euphoric screams burst forth from my lips, surprising even me, and were met with equally intense growls from Jesse.

I managed to part my eyes long enough to catch a glimpse of Jesse’s expression and I was stunned by it. With his eyes squeezed shut, his lips spread apart and greedily searching for air, a hot tide of passion raged through him, and he shuddered and climaxed inside of me. Even as we both wound down from the heady pleasure of our experience, our lips and touches sought and explored each other’s bodies.

As I unfurled from his grasp, I smirked. “We better get out of bed now, or we never will.” I laughed.

Jesse pretended to pout. “What's so wrong with that?” he asked, and grabbed playfully at my ankle as I started to crawl away.

I sheepishly poked my head out of the bedroom, listening for sounds of Kat. Thank God she had escaped the building—or more like she had escaped the torture of listening to our lust filled moans and screams—and I avoided an awkward roommate moment.

“Are you hungry?” I asked.

“Starving. Wanna go out for breakfast?”

“I can fix you some eggs and bacon if you like?”

Jesse sneaked up behind me and placed his hands on my hips. “Depends. Are you a good cook?” he teased.

“Only one way to find out! But seriously, who can mess up bacon and eggs?”

“You haven’t tasted
my
cooking. Trust me. I can mess up eggs and bacon.”

I laughed and swatted his firm butt. “Well, get out of my way so I can cook for my man.”

He pulled out a chair, sat down and watched me crack four eggs. “Sunny side up?”

“Sure, however you like them.”

“Perfect, I like a guy who’s not picky about food.”

Soon we were sitting across from each other, in my little kitchen, feeling very homey. It felt good to have Jesse with me like this. Jesse had worked up quite an appetite and it didn’t take him more than a couple of minutes to finish his food. He pushed his plate away and steepled his fingers under his chin.

“By the way, Niki. I was going to ask you last night but got a little… sidetracked.” He winked. “You know your friend I met at the bonfire, Jenna? She’s a journalist, right?”

“Yeah. Well, sort of. She works at the L.A. Times. She’s not really a journalist yet. Why?” I finished and placed my knife and fork neatly on the plate.

“You know Kenny’s bar isn’t doing too well financially. You’ve been in there lately. You’ve seen how empty it is. I feel like I’m letting Kenny down. He’s wrapped up with his cancer treatments, and Chase and I are in charge, and the damn place is going downhill. I’m just brainstorming ways to boost business. I don’t know shit about marketing but maybe Jenna could get us a good deal on a newspaper ad. Promote the place a little.”

“I doubt it. The L.A. Times is expensive and I’m not sure how much exposure it would bring. A better idea would be if we could have them do an article about Rookies. That would be free promotion.”

“A story about a sports bar? There are hundreds of bars like that in L.A.”

“None of them have a hot, super star, Motocross rider serving drinks behind the bar. Besides...” I tapped my finger on the table top for emphasis. “There’s a real story here about you and Kenny - the bone marrow transplant and everything. You’re a true to life hero, Jesse.”

The thought popped into my mind and made me feel happy. Jesse was the real thing, almost too good to be true. He made my heart race. I couldn’t believe he was mine. I couldn’t believe my life was… I glanced down at the yolk stain on the plate, well, sunny side up, like the eggs this morning. I had been blindsided by my own issues, so caught up in my own defenses, I’d nearly lost out on the best thing to ever happen in my life. I searched his dark blue eyes, waiting for his reaction to my idea.

“I don’t know about that.” He laughed and leaned back in his chair. “I’m no freaking hero, but I’m glad
you
think so.”

“Will you do it?”

He pursed his lips, tilted his head and gave me a sidelong glance. “Sure, why not. As long as the emphasis is on the
bar
and not me.”

I jumped up and leaned across the table and planted a big wet kiss on his lips. “Thank you, baby.” I walked over and tipped my plate into the sink. “I can’t promise anything about the focus of their piece. They’ll write whatever is the best story for their readers. But as far as the bar is concerned, it’s better than nothing.”

“Alright, cool. Can you set it up…call Jenna?”

“I will, baby. I will do anything for you.” I batted my lashes theatrically, with my fingers laced under my chin like a Southern Belle.

He rose from the table, handing me his plate and played along. “Anything? Hmm…I can think of something.”

A wicked smile grew across his face as he walked towards me. I laughed, picked up the dish towel and threw it at him.

“Down boy,” I teased. He leaned to the side and easily dodged my poor aim, letting the towel fall to the floor.

“You said anything.”

I braced myself like I was ready to run, but I was joshing. I had no intention of running from Jesse, ever again. He stepped closer and I let him catch me in his strong arms. Circling them around me, he pulled me close to the firm, tight muscles of his chest. He dipped his head down to me, grazing the outer edge of my ear lightly, playfully, with his nose, his hot breath fanning me all the way down my neck. I felt the wetness of his mouth as he tugged my earlobe with his teeth. My body melted into his firm frame and a hot shudder coursed through me. As my lips parted for his kiss I murmured, “I did, didn’t I?”

He crushed his mouth against mine. Tingles of anticipation reared up again, for the second time that morning, and it surprised me. He filled my whole being with wanting. I didn’t think I could ever get enough of Jesse Morrison.

Chapter 9

Jesse

“Hey, Jesse, can I talk with you for a second?” A faint knock came from the other side of the bedroom door.

“Sure…
Pops
.” I said in a sarcastic voice. “Come on in. It’s your house.” I tossed my Motocross magazine across the room and it landed neatly on the table.

Kenny pushed the door open. “Jesus, how long are you going to torment me about this Dad thing?”

“Just long enough for you to tell me the truth.”

“I told you everything I goddamn know. What else do you want to hear?”

“Maybe the real reason why you left us, after Dad died. And don’t give me that bullshit about Mom demanding you leave. That doesn’t fly with me. I know she had feelings for you.”

“I don’t know what else to say, Jesse,” his voice rose in pitch and he exhaled. “Ask her yourself. I’m sure she had her reasons.” He rubbed the back of his neck and held onto the door knob with the other hand.
From the expression on his face I could see Kenny had a bug up his ass; there was something else on his mind and he wasn’t in the mood to listen to my whiny rant. The sad look on his face made me check my attitude with him and I kicked up and sat on the edge of the bed.

“Whatever…anyway, what is it?” I sighed, leaned my elbows on my knees, and rubbed my face with my hands.

“I was going over last week’s accounts and the income from sales at the bar is down more than fifty percent. What the hell are you and Chase doing? Sitting around with your thumbs up your asses?”

“You make it sound like it’s
our
fault. We’re trying hard to attract customers. I’ve never owned a business. I don’t know what the hell to do and you’re not there to help…” The tension was getting to all of us lately, causing us to snap at each other. I was under pressure to help Kenny, Chase was afraid he’d lose his job and Kenny was – well - fucked.

It felt like I had the weight of the world on my shoulders, but before I could speak again, Kenny cut me off. “You’re not the one who has cancer, puking the living shit out of yourself every day.” He was turning beet red and I thought he might stroke-out on the floor at any minute.

I stood up and took a step toward Kenny, in case he passed out or something. Shit, I didn’t know much about what his cancer treatment did, but it sure made him sick.

“Hey, Kenny, you want to sit down?” I peered into his face. He was breathing hard but in a couple seconds his breaths slowed to normal. “Sorry to snap at you, we are all on edge here, these days. Let’s slow down and take it easy.” He nodded. “Come on, you need some water? Let’s go to the kitchen. I could use a drink, but I’ll settle for water.”

Kenny managed a meek smile at my bad joke and we moved our conversation to the kitchen

“So what exactly are you talking about? What are you doing to attract customers?”

“Well, it so happens that
maybe
, we can get an article about Rookies in the L.A. Times. That should attract some customers.”

“Forgive me if I don’t pat you on the back, but how’d you manage that?” He looked at me like I was full of shit.

“It was Niki’s idea. She knows someone who works for the newspaper and dropped a hint or two. I’m waiting to hear back, from the journalist assigned to the article, with a time and a place for the interview.”

“Place? Won’t the interview be at the bar?”

“I hope so. That’s what I suggested. But they want the focus of the article to be on me, the motocross champ who came from New York to help out his ailing uncle and help save his bar from closing. Kind of a sappy, pathetic story if you ask me.” My mouth inched into a crooked smile.

Kenny snorted a laugh. “That
is
pathetic.” He pulled out a chair, sat down at the kitchen table, and put his head in his hands. “Seriously, that is the best thing anyone has ever done for me. And to think that you came from
my
sorry ass genes.” He shook his head.

“I’m psyched about it. Anything for the cause…”

“It’s a fucking miracle...” His voice choked off the rest of his words and he ran the back of his hand across his cheek.

“Hey, man. Don’t get all mushy on me. You would’ve done the same for me. In fact, you did, back when I was a kid.” I moved toward Kenny and wrapped my arms around him in a bear hug.

“I’m okay.” He huffed and swatted me away. “So how is that hand of yours coming along? Feeling any better?”

I opened and closed my hand into a tight fist. “It’s getting a lot better. I’m itching to get back on a bike. It’s killing me that I haven’t been able to ride. My bike is in storage, back home.”

I noticed Kenny’s face light up. “Jess, you’re in luck. I have an old Harley you can borrow, if you want. I know it’s not a dirt bike and it needs a little TLC but it should still run. It might relieve the itch.”

“No fucking way. A Harley? Which series?”

“A Fatboy, big twin-engine, you know, the one with the large telescopic fork upfront, makes it look like a chopper from the 1960s.”

“Where the hell did you hide that?”

“It’s out back, in that rickety looking shed. Come on. Let’s take a look at it.”

“Fuck yeah.” We left the kitchen and I followed Kenny out to what I thought was a shed for his lawn mower and yard stuff.

“You know how the Fatboy got its name, don’t you?” He slid open the back patio door. “Rumor has it that the name was made up of a combination of the nicknames that were given to the two atomic bombs dropped on Nagasaki and Hiroshima: Fat Man and Little Boy.”

“No way…”

“Well, it’s an urban legend, anyway.”

It was just like old times again, Kenny schooling me on the knowledge of motorcycles; only this time it wasn’t as my uncle but as my dad.

Kenny twisted the key in the padlock and flipped it open, swinging wide the double doors of the shed. The front tire and a hint of shiny chrome peeked out from under a dusty black plastic cover, tailored to the fit the shape of the bike. He tilted his head in the direction of the bike. “Go ahead, pull the cover off.”

He stood back and I removed the cover with a whoosh of dust.

“Wow, she’s a beauty. Kenny, your bike is fucking bad ass!”

It looked to be a 1996 Fatboy, Harley-Davidson. It was beautiful; black with full chrome. It needed a little TLC, as Kenny said, but I couldn’t wait to feel the ocean air hitting my face on a ride to Malibu.

“A little elbow grease should get it to run. The battery is probably dead after sitting for so long, but that’s easy enough to fix. I might still have a battery charger in all this junk, but it’s probably better just to buy a new one.”

“Yeah, that old one might not hold a charge for long and I wouldn’t want to get stranded somewhere out on the Pacific Coast Highway.” I ran the palm of my hand along the smooth curve of the black high gloss gas tank, admiring its design. “And you are sure I can ride it?”

“It’s the least I can do. I won’t be riding it for quite a while. You think you can fix it up?”

“Absolutely...I learned from the best. It looks to be in pretty good shape.”

“She’s all yours. I gotta go lie down for a minute. I feel the nausea coming back.”

“Okay, man. You need some help?”

“I’m good. Catch you later. Be sure to let me know when you set up that interview.” He left and I turned to take a closer look at the beauty sitting in front of me. Fuck, she was sweet.